January 2010
“‘when in rome’ tally”
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“he met her beneath an empty alcove encrusted with stone wasps”
“we pass through a walled park being quietly reclaimed by nature. pigeons are...”
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things that get embarrassing when you <— i
have to share a room with other people
flatulence
inability to blow nose quietly
talking in sleep
making odd sounds when falling off to sleep
constant strange gullet/stomach sounds that are now familiar
smelling socks/underarms
prolonged toilet trips
morning hair
the urge to scratch limbs at length
reclusive tendencies
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“when things suck, you can always count on a cat.”
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trying to find la dolce vita looks like this
the roman forum
colosseum
trevi fountain (night)
spanish steps (morning)4B
catacombs (not open weds)
appian way
campido g lio ?
crypt of the capuchin monks
“i feel like i’m missing something here. here, more than anywhere.”
transcribed despondency on the second night
i’m wandering aimlessly around a supermarket. some pop crap is playing. they’re seriously overstocked on knorr sachets and they have too much squeezy mayonnaise. the cheese looks good but it’s expensive. i’m thinking if i had an oven i could do with those ‘captain findus’ fingers actually i couldn’t. the thought alone is making me feel sick and i have a...
the only photograph that exists.
‘you know, laur,’ he said with a trace of annoyance in his hushed amusement. ‘most people are looking up.’
michelangelo painted the ceiling. i got my foot stuck in the grate. what does it say when that’s what i felt the need to take a photograph of in the sistine chapel?
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€8 for a paperclip.
only i would do that.
(i didn’t do that.)
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“venezia pulled me in. something about rome pushes me away.”
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“‘oh,’ i said. ‘i think this is st. peter’s...”
– the litterbin was lovely. perhaps i’m spoiled.
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nothing yet is holding the wonder it should. have i lost the bug - is that even possible?- or am i scared to fall in love with travelling again after what it put me through last time? or am i just full of impossible expectations, as usual? disappointment seems to haunt this morning
step one.
find out where the hell we are.
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things i have misplaced this morning
my bra
comb
guidebook
makeupplug
moisturiser
toothbrush
toothpaste
thermals
pen
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our first night and we tried to find the ‘julius cesar’ bar an italian man outside the hotel told us about. we failed, miserably, and ended up being guided by two italian men to a very strange, twilight-zone-esque best western hotel bar, a place of extortion. we discussed art, the frustrations of being artists, and other general rubbish while nursing drinks. and i stole the table...
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today's plans
nine-ish: wake up
nine-thirty-ish: shower
nine-forty-five-ish: dress and pack
eleven-thirty-ish: hug her
twelve-ish: get on the train
one-ish: get in sal’s car
four-fourty-five-ish: fly
bed-time-ish: close my eyes on rome and look forward to tomorrow
“i’m having this recurring dream.
i’m in a car.
the windows are...”
“summer days. those two words mean different things to everyone, but always...”
“sure enough, i want to obliterate the stuff i wrote about him yesterday...”
– so. small dogs.
“have you ever confused a dream with life? or stolen something when you have the...”
she’s never confessed to anybody how much she wants to be loved. she’s a wanderer, in her words, in her mind, and in her dreams. she starts to float away like the balloons she used to deliberately let go of as a child, just to see how long the feeling of relief lasted until the climbing helplessness of missed chances to catch the ribbon and pull it back to life relinquished it to a memory. when...